


A Night In the Bahamas

by Winstonian1



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winstonian1/pseuds/Winstonian1
Summary: The Beatles are in the Bahamas filming help. One evening George has an invitation he can't refuse. Much smut ensues.
Kudos: 3





	A Night In the Bahamas

George

The ceiling fans whirred round with a buzzing noise which might have been annoying had he tuned into it, but they did little to cool the room. Windows were open but no breeze came in. The hash hungries had been well satisfied with the admittedly excellent meal but the meal was now consumed and the hash had worn off. He looked around for the others. Each one was deep in conversation, or so it seemed, with the person next to him at the long table. George picked up his wine glass again and swished the dregs from side to side, and then he glanced again down the table to where she sat, next to the man who was presumably her husband.

Not that you could necessarily make those assumptions. He seemed a lot older than her. He looked very rich. Not that that meant anything much; he himself was very rich but he didn’t think he looked it. Not like that man. All plump and prosperous with a stomach that bulged over the posh sash thing he wore round his waist. She was talking to him, the man, the husband, whatever he was, and then he saw her eyes swivel towards him again, briefly, as they had lots of times during that long and dull meal. Just for a second or two. It could have been accidental, that their eyes kept meeting, but he knew that it wasn’t. There was a gleam when they looked at each other. Definitely.

George tugged another cigarette out of the pack on the table in front of him and lit it. He looked back at her again, but she was talking to the man again. George dragged deeply on the cigarette and idly wondered what, if anything, he could do either to move this forward or forget it and look in other directions. He reached across the table to snag the wine bottle on the other side (“Oh, of course” simpered the over made-up lady opposite him as she pushed the bottle towards him. She’d been glancing meaningfully at him for most of the evening. He wasn’t interested.) He topped up his glass and took a couple of sips, and then looked down the table again towards his lady with the rich husband.

They’d gone. The lady and the husband.

George returned his attention to his wine glass, a small and rueful smile on his lips. Oh well. Easy come easy go. He knocked a length of ash from his cigarette and leaned back in his chair, and was surprised at a light touch on his shoulder. He turned around. She was standing just behind his chair, her attention clearly on a group of loud people over by the door. As he looked up at her, she leaned forward almost imperceptibly and said, quickly and quietly, “The pergola, half an hour.” And then she was walking towards the group of loud people, a broad and welcoming smile on her face and she lost herself in their midst, and it was hard to work out whether what he thought had just happened really had just happened.

It was like a spy film. A secret assignation with the beautiful Russian spy. Well, she was certainly beautiful, and then some, but he doubted she was Russian. George was grinning broadly to himself. An adventure. 

Suddenly he wasn’t bored any more. He looked at his watch. Half an hour. 

He filled the time by nursing his cigarette and his wine and people watching. Dick Lester was deep in animated conversation with someone else who looked rich and overweight. It must be a thing around here. He looked as if it was a serious professional sort of conversation. Ringo was giggling with a couple of guys at the other end of the table, Paul was exaggeratedly engrossed in conversation with a rather gorgeous woman and was managing admirably to keep his eyes on her face rather than her plunging cleavage. John – he was nowhere to be seen. It was unlikely that he’d got pissed off by something and marched out, as he’d have done that a lot more noisily. Must have found something or someone more interesting. George leaned back with the remains of his wine and let his eyes roam idly around the hot, loud, pretentious group of guests in the glittering extravagantly decorated dining hall in the Governor’s residence, pleased for the first time that evening that Brian had insisted they attend the summons that had passed for an invitation.

It was time.

He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, pocketed the pack and, avoiding the eyes of Mrs Over-Made-Up across the table, he turned and strolled in what he hoped was a casual manner towards the doors on the other side of the dining hall. A white-coated footman was clearing glasses from a side table and George paused to ask where was the pergola. Left down the hall and then out into the refreshing night air; he paused to get his bearings and then stepped down onto the terrace and made his way towards the sparkling lights looped around the pergola right across the gardens and almost out of the lights from the big house. He reached it and paused again. Maybe he’d got it all wrong, or maybe she’d been talking to someone else and had already gone. But no, she was there, on the other side of the pergola, looking out in the direction of the sea. George walked across to her and stood, and waited. She was smoking, looking out over the dark waves, the hem of her long silky dress tugged by the night breeze. 

“Hello,” he said.

She turned towards him and smiled. Then she threw her cigarette away and gestured with her head towards a grove of trees right on the edge of the property. “This way,” she said, and started walking. George followed and caught up with her.

“Where are we going?”

She looked up at him as they walked. “I have a small beach house. Just over there. I go there when the house is filled up with dignitaries. I get so tired of making conversation with them all.” She looked up at him again with a smile that looked almost conspiratorial. “Do you know what I mean?”

George was puzzled, and not a little alarmed. Who was this woman who he’d thought was just another guest but who had her own house in the grounds and who had to talk to dignitaries? Maybe the Russian spy thing wasn’t too far from the truth after all. Maybe she was leading him somewhere to be kidnapped and ransomed. He thought fiercely for a moment, and then asked, hesitantly, “Do you live here then?”

“I’m married to the Governor’s son. So I’m part of the firm.” She grimaced and looked up at him again. “It has its perks, but it’s pretty boring most of the time. It’s just over there,” and she pointed towards a small building at the foot of a cliff path. “Just a few steps.” And as if to illustrate this she set off down the cliff path, followed by her utterly bemused companion. It was indeed only a few steps, and in moments she produced a small key from her bag and unlocked the glass doors and stepped inside.

George did not. He stayed outside, he stayed where he was and he stood, arms by his side, loosely but in a posture of readiness that she would have recognised had she known him well. She turned back to him with a smile, but George was not smiling. She frowned. “What is it?” she asked.

“What is this?” came terse reply.

“What do you mean?” And she did sound genuinely surprised at his reaction.

“You’re the Governor’s daughter in law. You’ve brought me here. What for?” His heavy brows were knotted and his dark eyes were eyeing her in an intense and distinctly unfriendly manner. “Got some photographers lined up? One shot of us together, just me standing at this door would do it, and you’ve got a lovely story cooked up for the papers. Why’s that, eh? Daddy in law doesn’t like the Beatles and he wants the shit to hit the fan all over the world? Yeah?”

Either she was an excellent actress, or George’s increasingly angry diatribe had left her truly lost for words. She stood facing him, her upright posture unconsciously mirroring his, and scanned his face carefully whilst apparently planning her reply.

Which came soon; quietly, calmly and, he felt as he heard her out, convincingly. “It wouldn’t do me much good either, would it? If that sort of story hit the papers? I’ve got a position to maintain here. It might have its downsides, like talking to a million boring people, but it is my position and I do intend to keep it and perform it as expected.” Her words sounded clipped and her large blue eyes met his brown ones head on. “No, George, I did not bring you here to start the scandal of the century.” And then she smiled again as she faced him.

“So…why?”   
In answer, she reached one hand round to the back her head, and pulled out the pins which had been holding the elaborate style in place. Blonde hair cascaded down around her shoulders and she shook it back with a toss of her head. At the sight of his widening eyes her smile grew wider and knowing and then, beyond any doubt, seductive.

“Why do you think?” she said.

The woman

She laughed; she just had to. The dawning realisation on his face, and then his transparent attempt not to be too keen, not to be too desperate to start. But, after what was obviously his initial shock and surprise, she had to allow that he recovered admirably. He simply waited, still in her doorway after his understandable refusal to come any further, and she allowed herself the luxury of just looking at him. He stood, tall, slender, wearing his dark suit as casually and as perfectly as a model, and the distant light from the big house casting shadows in the sharp planes of his face. As she’d planned, as soon as she knew of the guest list for this evening, she’d picked the best looking one – the beautiful one. Her plan was certainly aided by the fact that he’d responded so readily to her glances, but had he not taken the bait she wouldn’t have gone for any of the others. This was the one she wanted. This was the one she’d always wanted. And now he was here, in her beach house and the whole night ahead of them.

“Won’t you at least come in now?” she asked, with a laugh in her voice, and, raising one eyebrow in a way that caused her breath to catch in a sharp gasp, he stepped into the room and looked around. Her description had been accurate; it was a small beach house, a very small one, most of it taken up with the main room with a large bed. There were doors, other rooms, probably utilitarian and unnecessary at the moment. She turned away and moved across to a drinks cabinet in the corner. “You like rum,” she said, not as a question, and he nodded and watched her pour two glasses. She brought them across to him and handed one to him. He took the glass but otherwise didn’t move, and simply regarded her with those extraordinary dark eyes. Ah, she reflected to herself, as their eyes met over the rims of the glasses – this is going to be a power play. And, she determined gleefully to herself, it was one she was going to win. “Salut”, she said and raised her glass. They drank.

He moved away and looked out of the window which faced back to the house. “Doesn’t anyone come here?”

“Only me.”

He turned back to look at her again. “Doesn’t… doesn’t he…?” That was as far as he got before she clearly caught his drift and shook her head.

“He doesn’t come down here. It’s… an agreement. It works.”

George smiled as he turned to face her, his back to the window. “Has he got his own… ‘beach house’ then?”

“He doesn’t really need one, does he. He’s got a mansion all of his own.” She took her drink over to the bed and sat down on it, taking another sip as she did. “Let’s not talk about him now, hmmm?”

It seemed that George had got the point and was happy to oblige. She watched, from her perch on the bed, as he pulled at the knot of his tie and tugged it undone, leaving it to hang loose around his neck. Then he shrugged himself out of his jacket and slung it over a chair next to the window. He undid the top buttons of his shirt, and toed his boots off. And he did all this without breaking their gaze. She thought it was the sexiest thing; and even more so when he strolled across to her and sat next to her on the bed. He reached out his hand, and slid it under the heavy curtain of blond hair and caressed the back of her neck with gentle fingertips.

A bolt of desire shot through her body and ended up between her legs and her gasp was involuntary and audible. She could see his eyes fixed on her parted lips, she could see that he was very aware of the effect that that one move had had on her. Whatever power plays may be in effect this evening, suddenly she wasn’t so confident that she would be the winner. Their eyes met again, confidently, challengingly, and he drew her towards him with the hand on her neck and owned her mouth in a kiss. Every other thought flew from her head, the kiss consumed her and her arms found their way around his neck and pulled her towards him and crushed her against his chest. They fell, she on her back and he propped on one arm above her, and they kissed for ever and not for long enough. She found her fingers running through his silky dark hair and she drew him even closer. He broke the kiss, slowly, lingeringly, and then his lips moved round to her ear. In a whisper which tingled through every atom of her, he simply said, ”Take your clothes off.”

In a way, it was that brazen bravado which she found so exciting that she almost melted. No fumbling with straps, no gradual revealing of breasts or thigh, no hands creeping hopefully upwards – none of those tricks or acts that she’d have expected of a young and inexperienced boy of twenty two. Ironically, it was for just those kind of cute inadequacies that she’d made her decision to take him and seduce him. An excited boy, her toy for the night with the stamina to keep going for the night, devoted and grateful admiration of the beautiful older woman. That had been her fantasy, that had in fact been her reality several times before; but not this time. With those four words purred into her ear, so supremely confidently, she realised with a rush of excitement that, twenty two he may have been, but inexperienced or ready to adore he was not. This beautiful boy was ready to take charge. She looked up into his face, and he smiled.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and the two of them moved apart and undressed themselves. As they did so their eyes held each other’s gaze until both were naked, and then their hands clasped and lips nuzzled and nibbled and hands gently stroked until they kissed again, deeply and hungrily. He pushed her back down onto the bed so that she lay under his gaze, but he stayed sitting upright, deliberately eating her with his eyes and she felt completely exposed, and delighted in it that feeling. She raised her arm, reaching out to touch the gratifyingly large cock which tempted her gaze and her hand, but he moved her arm aside and shook his head slightly. I’m doing this, he was signalling. His own hand stroked up her thigh and then nudged it up and outwards; she was lying totally exposed to him and she found her defencelessness and vulnerability incredibly exciting. Her breath was coming in gasps, she found herself desperate for him to touch her but still he didn’t, he just moved her other thigh aside and devoured her with his eyes. Then, at last, leaning his weight on his left arm, he reached forward with his right hand and, gently and tantalisingly, he ran his fingertips up and down her soaked opening. Just the opening. God, he was driving her mad.

“Ah.” A whispered sound, and she raised her hips towards his hand but he continued just to brush against her until he finally stroked her clit and the bolt of pleasure made her cry out. Her eyes had clamped shut in bliss, but she forced them open and looked up at him and saw him smile down at her, a crooked and very satisfied smile. Then, only then, he slowly slid his middle finger into her and pushed until it was knuckle deep. She flung her head back, thrusting her hips up again as he moved the finger out and then pushed it back. Then withdrew it completely and she expected him to replace it with two fingers but instead he thrust three fingers deep inside her, rough and hard as far as they would go and pushed his hand against her.

For a moment, just one moment, she was aware of a sliver of fear. She didn’t know him. She’d plucked a stranger out of a dinner party and brought him far away from anyone else without knowing anything about him and now she was completely at his mercy. She had no idea what weird and unpleasant ideas this rough English might consider fun. And, so far, nothing had worked out the way she’d anticipated, other than the fact that he was up for some sex. He was supposed to have been the toy, to be enjoyed but he’d managed to make it clear that she was the toy, she was the passive object to be played with. And yet…

She looked up into his eyes again, and she saw that the satisfied smile had gone and was replaced by eagerness and enjoyment and happy lust and that minute sliver of fear vanished away. Again she raised her arm and reached out to circle his neck and this time he leaned down to her and kissed her, as his hand continued to fill and fill and stretch her again, roughly and demandingly and deliciously and his thumb stroked her clit with each thrust and with a loud cry she came, burying her face in his shoulder. He continued to kiss her, as he gently withdrew his fingers, and he nuzzled his lips against the space below her ear and she shuddered. He carried on nuzzling and nibbling and kissing, down to the hollow of her throat and then lower to her breasts where he sucked and bit and squeezed gently with his hand. Again, she reached for the cock, again he nudged her away and then to her astonishment he quickly sat back on his knees, slid both hands under her buttocks and lifted her up to him. With the tips of his thumbs he spread her lips apart and covered her soaked opening with his mouth and then fucked her with his tongue, sucking and lapping and reaching right in until she came again, like a rocket, into his mouth and had to push him away when the intensity was too much.

His hands released her and he leaned forward over her again; their eyes met again as he reached down to position himself and at last he entered her, slow and deep and she wrapped her legs around his slender waist and her arms around his neck and they moved together. He pushed hard and deep and raised himself on his elbows and looked down at her. She knew she wouldn’t finish, not after all the other things he’d done, but she just enjoyed the sensation of him filling her over and over, but then the spark of pleasure began and stayed and built, and she clutched him round the neck and heard herself saying, “There, there, keep doing that, don’t stop,” and he chuckled against her ear and said, “I might have to stop some time,” and she said “Not yet” and then they were moving and thrusting together and the pleasure build up more and more until she cried his name and he gasped against her ear and then they slowed, and then stopped, and lay limply together, side by side, breathing slowing and skin cooling.

In a while she turned her head to look at him. His eyes were closed but, sensing her movement, he opened them and looked lazily back at her. They regarded each other for a moment. “You’re very surprising,” she murmured.

His forehead creased in a slight frown. “Why?”

She shuffled around slightly so that she was lying on her side facing him, and her fingertips traced a pattern on his smooth chest. She shrugged. He smiled, a smile that didn’t definitely express devotion or gratitude at all. He blinked slowly, the long eyelashes caressing his face. “You wanted a toy for the night. Yeah?” Her eyes widened at his directness. “What were you expecting?”

She lowered her head to kiss his shoulder, a move which gave her a little thinking time. “I don’t know,” she replied in the end; not, they both noticed, denying what he’d said. “But… not that.”

He chuckled, and then turned his head to look at the room beyond the large bed. “I need a ciggie.”

“A cig…? Oh. There’s a pack there, in that drawer.” So saying, she reached across him to open the drawer; as she did so he encircled her with his arms and held her closer, running one hand up and into her hair. She paused where she was and looked down at him, looked at the expression on his face and in his eyes, leaned down to kiss him again and then lowered her lips to the toned shoulders and hard chest. And moved down his long lean body, taking time on every inch until finally she took the already swelling cock in her mouth.

Impressive, she thought, as she took him deep into her mouth, in and out, her hands stroking and pressing his balls. A gratifyingly short recovery time. At least one of the reasons she’d picked a twenty two year old had worked out as she’d anticipated. She knelt across his legs as she fucked him with her mouth and he reached down and grasped her hair and his fingertips pressed hard into her head. She heard his breathing become deep and slow and a groan emerged and he was starting to tug at her hair. She decided to help him along, whether or not he needed it; she slid her hand round to his firm buttocks and edged her middle finger between them and then into the tight opening. “Ahhh!” he gasped, and then, “I can’t…” and he came hard into her mouth, warm and spurting and she waited until it was all gone and all swallowed. Then she raised her head and met his eyes, and smiled.

“Fuck!” he said, faintly, and then raised his head and reached his arms down and drew her against his chest and held her close. “Shit,” he added. 

“Does that mean it was good?” she murmured against his skin. “I can never tell with you English.”

He chuckled and tightened his arms for a moment. “Yeah,” he replied. “It was good.” 

George

They rested, close together, and he felt his eyes closing and sleepiness creep over him. This wouldn’t be a good idea. He blinked and forced his eyes open again. “You said something about a ciggie?”

She kissed his shoulder affectionately and reached over him again to the drawer, this time pulling it open and retrieving the pack. They both sat up, propped themselves against the headboard and lit up and smoked in silence. After a moment she twisted her head and looked up at him. “Can you stay over? Tonight.”

That surprised him, one of the many surprises he’d had this evening. He was sure she’d chuck him out when she was ready, just to show who was boss. He looked down at her upturned face, and gave her a peck on the mouth. “I can’t really,” he said. “We’ve got to start early, for filming. I have to get back.”

“I could wake you up in time. You could…” But he was shaking his head, as he leaned over to one side to stub out the cigarette. 

“No, sorry. I can’t.” He kissed her again and then, to emphasise that he really meant it, he slid sideways and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ve really gotta go.” He smiled into her eyes and then turned away and started to look for his clothes, scattered not too far from the bed. She watched with real regret as, with item by item, he was gradually covered up. She too slithered off the bed and grabbed a silky dressing gown hanging on a hook near the bed. She slipped it on and tied it up across her, and then moved across to him and slid her arms around his neck. 

“Sure?”

“Sure.” 

“Stay for another drink?”

He laughed as he reached back and unclasped her hands from around him. “I’ve gotta go,” he said again, and started to move towards the door. There he paused, aware that he shouldn’t really stalk off into the night without some appropriate words of appreciation. She had been pretty good…

“Well,” she broke in while he was still thinking of what to say. Her smile was broad and warm and affectionate and she clasped his hands in hers before letting them go, “I think I made the right choice!”

He grinned, a grin which to her surprise made her heart jump a little. “Yeah, you did,” and he pulled her back towards him and kissed her, a kiss which he hoped said what the words would have said if he’d been able to think of them. “Bye.” He stepped out of the door into the warm night. He turned again to wave, and was just walking away when her words reached him, quietly spoken but clear. 

“Same time same place tomorrow?”

He whirled back to face her; searched her face for signs of… what he didn’t know, but she seemed as straight and as honest as she had all evening. He blinked again, and then shrugged. “I… I’ll see if I can.”

That would do. She nodded at him, waved again and he turned and walked back along the pathways back towards the main house. Instead of going in he skirted the building and headed towards the group of guest huts in which were housed the Beatles for the duration of their filming. As he approached them, a figure emerged from the shadows and joined him in step and they walked together. “Whatcha been doin’?” asked John. George looked at him and grinned again.

“Oh, yer know. What about you?”

“Yeah. Yer know.” 

George laughed; the two walked companionably together towards the shared hut, unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving behind the alien and intrusive Bahamas and rejoining their familiar Beatle lives.

It was always good to get back to, whatever you’d been doing.


End file.
